"Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Dragonlance Chronicles 1 - Dragons Of Autumn Twilight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)

"Watch it," Tika warned.

Otik shrugged. "Unless the High Theocrat can fly now, he won't be listening to us. I'd
hear his boots on the stairs before he could hear me." But Tika noticed he lowered his
voice as he continued. "The residents of Solace won't put up with much more, mark
my words. People disappearing, being dragged off to who knows where. It's a sad
time." He shook his head. Then he brightened. "But it's good for business."

"Until he closes us down," Tika said gloomily. She grabbed the broom and began
sweeping briskly.

"Even theocrats need to fill their bellies and wash the fire and brimstone from their
throats." Otik chuckled. "It must be thirsty work, haranguing people about the New
Gods day in and day out-he's in here every night."

Tika stopped her sweeping and leaned against the bar.

"Otik," she said seriously, her voice subdued. "There's other talk, too-talk of war.
Armies massing in the north. And there are these strange, hooded men in town,
hanging around with the High Theocrat, asking questions."

Otik looked at the nineteen-year-old girl fondly, reached out, and patted her cheek.
He'd been father to her, ever since her own had vanished so mysteriously. He tweaked
her red curls.

"War. Pooh." He sniffed. "There's been talk of war ever since the Cataclysm. It's just
talk, girl. Maybe the Theocrat makes it up just to keep people in line."

"I don't know." Tika frowned. "I-"

The door opened.
Both Tika and Otik started in alarm and turned to the door. They had not heard
footsteps on the stairs, and that was uncanny! The Inn of the Last Home was built
high in the branches of a mighty vallenwood tree, as was every other building in
Solace, with the exception of the blacksmith shop. The townspeople had decided to
take to the trees during the terror and chaos following the Cataclysm. And thus Solace
became a tree town, one of the few truly beautiful wonders left on Krynn. Sturdy
wooden bridge-walks connected the houses and businesses perched high above the
ground where five hundred people went about their daily lives. The Inn of the Last
Home was the largest building in Solace and stood forty feet off the ground. Stairs ran
around the ancient vallenwood's gnarled trunk. As Otik had said, any visitor to the Inn
would be heard approaching long before he was seen.

But neither Tika nor Otik had heard the old man.

He stood in the doorway, leaning on a worn oak staff, and peered around the Inn. The
tattered hood of his plain, gray robe was drawn over his head, its shadow obscuring
the features of his face except for his hawkish, shining eyes.

"Can I help you. Old One?" Tika asked the stranger, exchanging worried glances with